Society Rules (47 page)

Chapter 29

Out of the mouths

Of babes, it is said

The truth will surely out

I feel no dread

I answer your call

A Savior, so faithful

We serve at your whim

Your summons will lead us

On a journey, most fateful

“The Alpha”

Katherine Whitley

He whimpered as he ran, limping along, alternating his right and left foot; front and back, to lift and hold high above the rough, abrasive and salt-covered asphalt. This, however, slowed his progress only slightly.

The pain was nothing. The pain could be ignored. He felt a drive to reach his destination that even he could not understand.

All he knew was that he had to keep going.

Even as he felt the rubbery pads of his paws shredding, allowing the thick, dark blood to leave small droplets wherever his feet touched down, he kept an even and steady pace.

Max paused at a set of railroad tracks, tongue swollen with thirst, and hanging from his mouth. He must not be careless. His call was to come, and he was determined to answer that call. It would not do to be crushed to death by a car or a train, never to complete the bidding of his mistress.

The poor dog was riddled with anxiety. The call had come early this morning, hours ago, but one of the more unfortunate aspects of being a dog was the fact that you were slightly limited in your ability to come and go at your leisure.

Not that he hadn’t tried.

Were his claws not bloodied before this journey, with his attempts to tear his way through the window? Well, there was nothing to be done about that now, was there? He was on his way, and he was going to let nothing stop him.

He carefully looked both ways before crossing the railroad tracks and then bounded forward again with all of the speed left available in his weary little body. He could ignore the fatigue as well. Nothing was more important than reaching his destination.

Then, he must remember to use stealth and caution. He was warned not to show himself until he was told. He must remember, although he knew that it was going to be hard not to throw himself into the arms of the one who called.

He would be patient, and await her command.

First, though, he had to get there. He finally reached the main highway, and from here it was a straight shot, although he had several more miles to cover. Panting mightily, Max urged himself forward with a burst of reserved energy.

He would not let her down.

Chapter 30

Absolution, redemption

Is it one and the same?

Will salvation come

If I call out your name?

K.W.

Will remained propped upright, but leaned heavily against the truck door. The right side of his face, he kept pressed against the glass window, which retained the remnants of the cooler early morning.

His left eye was locked unflinchingly on Baker, who was silently steering Will’s truck expertly down the twisting two-lane road.

The sensation of pressure within his chest had become impossible to ignore, yet that was exactly what Will was doing. Really, what were his options? Beg Baker to make a quick swing by the E.R.?

One
medical
evaluation
to
go,
please.

Leaving Lockhart and Baker free to do God knows what with his kids? Would he let the hospital tie him to a gurney with IV’s and wires, while his entire family was left to fend for themselves?

Nope. Not a chance.

Will had already decided.

He just hoped to remain upright and conscious long enough to see this through. Then he could die.

Although he was sorely out of practice, having uttered not one single earnest prayer in many years, Will gave it a shot.

Please, God, just my family . . . just let
them
get out of this unscathed, and let them live in peace. They all deserve it. I have done bad things. I have taken the lives of others, but they . . . they shouldn’t suffer my punishments. Let them go, please, and I will come quietly. Honest!

He steadfastly maintained control of his body; neither his face nor his posture betraying anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing he could do however, to stem the persistent and rapidly increasing flow of perspiration from every pore in his body.

Hopefully Baker would simply attribute this to the obscene amount of heat radiating through the windshield, although Baker himself showed only minimal discomfort, having shed his muddy and destroyed suit jacket.

He was busy mourning the demise of his favorite Brioni suit, as well as his car.

Will shifted in his seat, passing his pistol from his left hand pocket to his right, with a smooth sleight of hand that would have impressed even Cris Angel. He was beginning to feel numbness in the fingertips of his left hand that made him unwilling to trust his ability to act quickly if Baker tried to misbehave.

Baker had thus far shown no sign of plotting an attempt to overthrow his command but regardless, Will was taking no chances. With his weapon now securely in his right pocket, Will repositioned himself slightly, to have a clear shot.

Just in case.

He was amazed at how much effort this simple maneuver had taken, and was suddenly very nearly overcome with fear, and a horrible feeling of impending doom. He clenched his teeth tightly, now defying the emotions as well as the physical evidence that something was very wrong with him.

A heart attack. Well, wasn’t this rich. As much as Baker had enjoyed taunting him and calling him an old man, this had never really bothered Will. He knew he wasn’t old. Thirty-five was still pretty young, for God’s sake, and he was most definitely still in his prime. Baker was just being a cocky jackass.

Now, his body was going to betray him by succumbing to something that Will would assume could happen only to someone, well . . .
old!
And out of shape.

This so cannot be happening to me! Will protested, silently.

Yet it was happening. He could no longer deny it.

He was still absorbing the absurdity of this fact when his cell phone rang shrilly. With a supreme act of will, he pulled the phone from his pants pocket with his left hand. He kept his face non-committal as he noted the caller ID.

The only visible sign of Will’s surprise was a slight tightening of his eyes. Naturally, Shawn noticed immediately.

“Who is it?” he asked in an almost convincingly casual voice.

“Shut up and drive, Baker!”

“So answer it, why don’t you?” Shawn returned with an infuriating grin.

Shawn was very confident that, somehow, everything was going to work out, and was obviously not feeling the fear that was almost paralyzing Will. Having never had children, he was completely unable to relate to the kind of terror that Will was suffering. In his mind, Shawn couldn’t understand Will’s continued worry.

Had he not as much as told him that he was no longer interested in capturing his children? And furthermore, he had no doubts as to his ability to control agent Lockhart, so what was the problem?

Taylor
should
just
relax,
Shawn thought with an exasperated sigh.

Baker
just
doesn’t
get
it,
Will thought to himself, after noting his expression. He stared at the ringing phone in his hand, and then sighed too.

The idea of Indie in the same space as Baker, even over the phone, was unthinkably disturbing to Will. On the other hand, what he wanted more than almost anything in the world was to hear her voice—to know that she was, at least for the moment, okay. He answered, hesitantly.

“Will? Oh,
Will!”
Indie’s voice was agonized . . . distraught.

Oh God. This was a mistake.

The moment he heard the sound of Indie’s horrified voice, shaking with fear, Will felt his throat constrict. Now the unnatural pressure in his chest was joined by an altogether different kind of tightening.

Oh no.

Uh-uh. No way.

He was absolutely
not
going to do something so humiliating as burst into tears, right here in front of Baker. The guy already thought him a moronic old fool. Now he could label him a crybaby too. Oh holy hell, talk about the last straw.

The last remnants of Will’s dignity were slowly being shredded into so much confetti. Maybe later he could piss his pants . . . or worse, he thought morosely, fighting back against his overwhelming need to vent his despair.

Having never shed a tear since he was a baby, with the exception of the night Indie told him she was dumping him, Will was completely out of his element. Where in the hell was his self-control? He could only rationalize this new and inexplicable tendency to want to cry like a child, to be the direct result of the distressing feeling that Will had been struggling to come to terms with.

The feeling that he was about to die.

Maybe in a blaze of glory, attempting to save his loved ones. Or maybe of a massive myocardial infarct. That idea in itself was a little humiliating.

It wasn’t actual death that Will feared, precisely. He had faced death squarely and without fear numerous times in his career, always with courage, fearless in the knowledge that his wife, then later, his children were safe at home, and would be very well provided for in the event of his demise. It was nothing that a million dollar insurance policy hadn’t taken care of.

No, his fear today was mired in the horror that, should he die prematurely, he would not be assured of the outcome. How could he die not knowing that his family was safe, if his mission was accomplished? It was unthinkable.

He became aware of Baker’s eyes on him, and he resolutely decided that he most definitely could not give in to the infantile bawling that was trying to push its way out.

Absolutely not.

Will inhaled deeply, forcing the breath through the catch in his throat. He shut his eyes and swallowed the football-sized lump that lodged in his vocal chords at the sound of his wife’s voice.

His
wife
.

She was still his wife, right? Even though she was no longer . . .
his
?

“Will!” Indie’s voice was pleading now. “The kids . . . .”

“It’s going to be okay, Indie.” Will spoke steadily, turning his head slightly from the phone to clear the thickness from his throat. He tried again.

“I’ve got it under control—please, you . . . you have to . . . stay away. Get . . . get your . . .”

God, could he stop stuttering,
please
? “Get . . .
Jackson
to take you away, out of town somewhere. I will get the kids, Indie, I swear to you.” Will gulped at the lump once more.

“And Indie, I . . . I will bring them to you. To you and Jackson. They’ll need to go with you.”

Will felt as if he were suffocating, between the feeling that his throat was collapsing, and the crushing pressure in his chest.

“Will, what are you saying? And what’s happening with you? You’re—something’s not right with you. You’re . . . not . . .”

Indie’s voice trailed to a whisper. “You’re not okay, are you?”

“I’m fine,” Will lied. “Don’t climb all through my head, okay? Right now, I need you to promise me that you’ll stay away and let me handle this. Please.”

Silence.

“Indie,
promise
me
!”

“I can’t do that, Will. I’m sorry. I know you want us safe, and I cannot even begin to tell you what that means to me. But you; you’re not . . .
well
. You won’t be able to . . . .”

Indie stopped. She couldn’t complete her sentence.

“
Please
, Indie!” Will repeated, grinding out the words through gritted teeth. “I won’t be able to function very well if I have to worry about you, too!” Will decided to ignore Baker, who was staring straight ahead at the road, but no doubt listening with great interest.

To hell with him.

“Will, listen to me. Jackson and I—she hesitated after saying this, feeling Will’s mental cringe at the words—we’re on our way to where you are headed, because . . .” she faltered again. “ . . . Because I have a bad feeling that you are not going to be able to function much longer, regardless.”

Her fear was heavy in her voice.

“Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.” Will breathed deeply, fighting the curtain of weakness descending over him, growing heavier by the moment.

“So, this woman who has our children is on US two? By the cemetery?” Indie asked, suddenly. Will did not answer; his silence confirming what Indie had already pulled from his mind.

“Then I guess we’ll see you there, Will. We will be coming from the south in a bronze Mercedes—she paused again as Will snorted at this—and will come around to the cemetery on foot. You’re in your truck, right?”

“Why ask?” Will spoke dryly. Indie ignored this.

“And, Will . . . you have a friend with you?”

“
Friend?”
Will snorted again. “Yes,” Indie spoke softly now. “I think you do.

“Will, please take care of yourself as best you can, and don’t be afraid for us. The children are all that matter now. Always remember, I do still love you.”

The call ended with Will left numbly frozen, the phone still held against his ear.

Her last five words had warmed him, but not enough to thaw the deadly chill that the rest of what she had said instilled in him. Her goodbye sounded like something you would say to someone who was going away on a very long trip.

Someone you think you might never see again.

The iciness washed over his skin, yet had no effect on the drenching sweat still cascading down his face and soaking his clothes.

Shawn’s voice cut through his morbid thoughts. “So, that was your wife, huh?” Will didn’t answer, feeling that a response was wholly unnecessary.

“Sounds like she and her . . .
friend
are coming to join the party!” Will turned in his seat to face Shawn fully. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about what my wife may or may not be planning.”

Will tried to make his voice sound convincingly mocking and self-assured. He hoped he was successful.

“Hey, don’t worry, Will. I thought we had a truce!”

“Did we?” Will responded. “I don’t remember. I somehow don’t recall you actually convincing me that you were no longer on a mission to snatch up
any
member of my family. Or anyone else important to any of them,” he added reluctantly.

Now it was Shawn’s turn to be silent. Will was right. He hadn’t promised that he would not still go after Indie and her boyfriend, although the Indie part was becoming distasteful to him too, now. Growing a heart as well as a conscience was hard work for Shawn, and it was kind of pissing him off.